


live deliciously

by nobirdstofly



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: Tommy and Lovett need Jon's help with a difficult spell, but Jon doesn't know they're witches. Luckily, he's very amenable.





	live deliciously

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me, I don't know either. This was supposed to be a touch darker but instead it's indulgent porn and some feelings. Tagged dub-con just in case, but everyone's very into it. Be cool and please keep this secret. Title from _The Witch_.

When he gets the text, it’s late enough that Jon is seriously considering going to bed, but still early enough he’d feel a little embarrassed if anyone knew about it. Leo’s sleeping on the other end of the couch, whuffling softly as he dreams, and Jon wants to join in.

 _Hey can you help me out with something?_ It’s Lovett. Jon agrees immediately, craning his neck to try to look across the street to the lights of Lovett’s house, wondering what he needs. His phone vibrates again.

_Let us in?_

Jon frowns. Lovett never asks. He has a key, and he likes to pretend he doesn’t understand boundaries (or maybe he really doesn’t, Jon’s never been one-hundred percent on that one). Even if he was holding Pundit, or anything else, he has a hand free to type. He should be able to unlock and open Jon’s door.

He goes to the door in his underwear and the hoodie he’s been wearing all day. If Lovett’s this impatient and apparently useless, he can deal with Jon being too lazy to find pants. Lovett’s turned away when Jon opens the door, watching the sky. He doesn’t have Pundit with him. He has Tommy.  
  
Tommy steps onto the porch so he’s level with Jon, leaving Lovett staring upward. Tommy’s smiling, and he curls a big hand around the back of Jon’s neck, under the fabric of the shirt and flat against his skin.  
  
“Hey, Jon,” he says, and fits his mouth to Jon’s, casual, like this is normal. Like it’s not the first time they’ve ever done this. It should be chaste—it’s a dry and relatively short kiss—but it feels too intimate for that.  
  
Jon’s a little shell-shocked when Tommy pulls back. “Hey, Tom,” he croaks.  
  
Lovett’s watching them now with a smug smirk, much closer than he was before. He fists his hand in Jon’s shirt and hauls him down. Lovett’s kiss is decidedly less innocent, and Jon moans when he realizes Tommy’s hand is still firmly on his neck, pushing him into it.  
  
“Okay, c’mon,” Tommy says, after what seems like a lifetime. “We really don’t need your neighbors seeing what comes next.”  
  
Lovett breaks away, and Tommy tows Jon into his own house. The ease with which he does it, and how good Jon feels following along, is something Jon thinks he’d like to revisit later. When he’s alone.  
  
He touches his mouth. “What was that?” God, he sounds winded.  
  
Lovett hefts a backpack Jon hadn’t noticed onto his shoulder and follows them in, locking the door behind him. “Litmus test,” he says, which explains exactly nothing.  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
Tommy still has a hand on Jon, though he’s slid it onto his shoulder. “Can we use your bedroom?”  
  
Jon starts at that, like he’s touched a livewire. Lovett laughs and leads the way without waiting for Jon’s say-so.  
  
He’s taking candles out of his bag when Jon and Tommy enter the room, and not ones in glass jars like Jon’s aunt sends him for Christmas that he keeps on his dresser, but thick white and red ones that have been burned in the past. Lovett slides little paper plates under them, which Jon distantly appreciates for the sake of his furniture. The candles are followed by a bunch of herbs, a baggie full of some kind of seeds, an honest-to-god mortar and pestle, and what looks like cheesecloth.

Jon stops. “What the fuck? Are you guys high?”

“No,” Lovett says. “Well, not exactly. It’s complicated. Lighter? Matches?”

Tommy laughs from behind, then slides his hands up under Jon’s hoodie.

“Nightstand,” Jon says, faintly, twitching under the touch.

Lovett slides open the drawer of the nightstand, and Jon’s suddenly glad that the lighter is right in the front. There’s no way Lovett won’t see the condoms and lube, but at least he doesn’t have to riffle through them. It’s Lovett, though, so he shoots Jon a devilish smirk over his shoulder.

Tommy’s warm hands are still on his skin, inching his shirt up little by little. “Can I take this off?” he asks. Jon nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and he’s not one to look gift horses in the mouth. He lifts his arms so Tommy can get the hoodie off him, and Tommy ruffles his hair and presses a kiss to the base of his neck after it’s clear, right where his hand had been earlier. 

Jon’s not positive he didn’t doze off on the couch after all. That this isn’t all some elaborate, bizarre dream that he will never, ever tell anyone about.

“Lie down,” Tommy says, pushing him toward the bed.

“What is going on?” Jon asks, because it needs to be said. He’s already moving to do as he’s told, though.

“We’ll explain in a sec,” Lovett says. He’s lighting the candles in a weird sequence, crossing from side to side through the room. Jon sits on his bed, twisting his hands together nervously.

“On your back,” Tommy says.

As soon as Jon complies, something winds around his arms, holding them down at his sides with his palms flat against the covers. He yelps and looks down, but there’s nothing there, like invisible ropes are circling his shoulders all the way to his wrists. He instinctively struggles, and the same thing loops around his ankles, keeping him down.

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, looking up from where he’s crushing the pod-like seeds with the pestle. “It’s okay, we’re right here.”

Jon struggles not to panic. “What the _fuck_?!”

Lovett turns to the bed. He’s holding a very shiny, very sharp knife. Jon jerks against the invisible bonds, and Lovett rolls his eyes. “We’re not going to—we don’t kill people, Favreau. We’re not doing a virgin sacrifice here or something.”

“I’m not a—" Jon argues, but Tommy clamps a hand over his mouth, raising an eyebrow.

“Really? That’s the part you have a problem with?”

Jon feels himself blushing. Tommy’s hand tightens minutely before he lets go, leaving Jon gasping for air in a way that doesn’t make sense given he was only deprived of it for a few seconds. Tommy watches him knowingly.

Lovett turns back to Jon’s dresser, slicing the herbs onto the cheesecloth. Jon wants to tell him to go get a cutting board from the kitchen, but that seems like the least of his worries right now.

He takes a few deep breaths before demanding, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“Tommy and I are witches,” Lovett says, over his shoulder. Like it’s not an earth-shattering explanation. He and Tommy keep working away.

Jon stays very still for several moments. He had his suspicions from everything else so far, thanks to that time his class took a trip to Salem in seventh grade. Plus he’s seen some of _Charmed_ , and _Hocus Pocus_ , obviously, but what the hell?

“Are,” he starts, and has to force himself to swallow around the dryness in his mouth. “Are you sure you’re not high?”

Lovett laughs, short and bright. “I promise.”

“You said it was complicated.”

“We did drink a little, but that’s part of the ritual. Mulled wine.”

“Glogg,” Tommy corrects, adjusting his hold on the mortar.

“Pedantic,” Lovett shoots back.

“Was there something in the, the wine?” Jon tries.

“No,” Tommy says, “but there is a little, like, rush with doing magic. It’s nothing like drugs, though, unless the spell is really strong.” 

“Which,” Lovett says, pointing to Tommy with the knife, “this will be if we don’t fuck it up.”

“Witches. Okay,” Jon says. He grasps for what else he knows from stories, because that is far, far easier than dealing with the fact his friends he decided to start a fucking company with might be crazy. Or that he might be crazy, given he’s pinned to his own bed by something he can’t see. “Does that mean Pundit’s a, uh **—** ”  
   
“A familiar?” Lovett prompts, because he’s been finding the words Jon can’t for years.

Tommy snorts. “God, can you imagine how terrible she would be?”

Lovett glares at him. “First of all, she would be amazing, because she’s perfect.”

“She is an angel,” Jon says, automatically.

Lovett stills in his uneven dicing and turns to stare at Jon for long enough that Jon can feel his cheeks getting hot again.

“Thank you,” Lovett says, finally. Then he turns an impish smile on Tommy. “Anyway, I heard familiars have to have dark fur.” 

Jon gasps, craning his neck to look at Tommy, who’s currently looking out the window by Jon’s headboard. Lovett snickers.

“Jesus, Lovett, seriously?” Tommy comes over so he’s by Jon’s side, looking down at him, still grinding away. “My dog is not a spiritual helper to me in any way, shape, or form. She’s just a dog.”

“She’s a great dog,” Jon corrects.

Tommy stares at him the way Lovett had. Without taking his eyes off Jon, he asks Lovett, “Did you do something? Suggestion, or compulsion, or **—** ”

“Of course not,” Lovett says, looking down at Jon. “Gotta be of his own free will, right? Besides, he’s probably immune to anything either of us can affect on that end of the spectrum by now. Even you, and you’re amazing at suggestion.”

They smile warmly at each other, and Jon feels, bizarrely, like a voyeur. Like he’s intruding upon them by being tied up in the same room. He strains against his bonds without thinking, and, actually. “Free will?”

“Witchcraft is surprisingly nonliteral,” Tommy says, turning the smile on Jon. He looks proud, like Jon figured something out. “Your will isn’t a physical thing.”

“It’s a ‘spirit of the law versus the letter of the law’ kind of thing,” Lovett elaborates. “Your mind and your, for lack of a better word, soul have to give in. Not your body.”

“Though that can help,” Tommy says, and the way he smiles when he says it, dark and intent, makes Jon shiver. Unbidden, he thinks of them kissing him at his front door. He almost forgot, in the madness.

“How does it work? How does someone give in?”

“Words,” Lovett says, simply. “There’s an intonation, but it’s pretty short. Intent is the most important part, and you’re practically the most genuine person on the planet. You’ll be great at it."

“Plus you’ve already agreed to everything else we’ve asked for. It lays a solid groundwork,” Tommy points out. “Do you trust us?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jon says, because even at their mercy for reasons he doesn’t understand, Jon does. Tommy just smiles.

He shakes out the mortar onto the cheesecloth, joining whatever he was crushing with whatever Lovett’s been slicing. Tommy stretches the cheesecloth over a metal bowl Jon hadn’t seen before, holding it in place. Lovett takes out a bottle filled with oil and carefully pours it over the cloth, saturating the herbs and crushed seeds. The oil drains into the bowl, tinging against the metal as it slows.

Tommy peels off the cloth, rolling it up to keep everything inside, as Lovett takes back up the knife. He pricks his thumb, then squeezes until a drop of blood joins the oil. Tommy holds out his hand for the same treatment. _Something wicked this way comes_ , Jon thinks, and shivers. Lovett swirls the bowl, mixing in the blood.

“Get the lights,” he says to Tommy.

“Why don’t you?”

“Hands are full.”

“And?” 

“Oh!” Lovett says. “Hey, Jon. Look.”

The overheard light goes off, and Jon can even hear the switch moving in a sudden absence of other sound, like they’re in a vacuum. His bindings go loose for a second before tightening back into place as his eyes adjust. The room is closer, safer in the dark with only the candles, and he can smell the oil even from the bed. It’s earthy, but fresh. Somehow both smokey and minty.

Tommy ducks to press his forehead to Lovett’s, the bowl between them. Together, they mutter something, but Jon can’t make it out. It’s almost musical. The candles spark a touch higher in Jon’s peripheral vision, but he only has eyes for them. They walk to the bed, each on one side of Jon.

Lovett dips his hand in the oil and sketches something in the center of Jon’s chest. Jon is suddenly glad he’s held down, that he can’t arch into the touch. He can only see the candlelight reflecting off the oil, not the real shape of the symbol. It feels warm. Lovett reaches out and draws something near Jon’s temple, then beside his eye, then just underneath, so that his eyelashes glance off Lovett’s fingers when he blinks.

“You know, when I first met you, I thought you were one of us,” Lovett says. “Just really good at hiding it.”

Tommy hums his agreement, dipping his fingers and starting to draw as well, mirroring Lovett’s progress on the left side of Jon’s body. They both start at his temples, and, with light, swift movements, make their way down, down, down.

“Why?” Jon asks, trying to keep his voice even. He twitches a little when Tommy brushes right underneath his jaw and Lovett’s already at his collarbone.

“Your words had power. _Have_ power,” Lovett says. “You inspired devotion, helped get people to follow the right path.”  
  
Jon feels a little hysterical. Maybe more than a little. “You thought I was a witch because I was good at my job?”

“You were great at your job, Jon,” Tommy jumps in. “You still are.”

It makes him feel a little calmer, a little more centered and assured. He can feel himself smiling back at Tommy, at both of them. In spite of the insanity of the situation, he knows he’s safe here. Besides the kind of giant secret they’ve apparently been keeping from him, he knows them. And they know him, inside and out. Know he’ll settle down if they praise him long enough. He’s tried to stop fighting it when it comes to them. To just listen. 

“You bent the ear of one of the most powerful men on the planet,” Lovett says, “and he delivered your words to literally billions of people.” Jon opens his mouth to protest, but Lovett carries on, louder, “I know it was a collaborative process, Jon, I was there. I’m not saying you hoodwinked the smartest person I’ve ever met, just that you were so good I thought it was like, uh—”

“Magic,” Tommy finishes, and they both dissolve into laughter.

Their hands are at his hips now, even with each other and just above the band of his boxer briefs, fingertips barely touching his skin. Jon’s glad. He’s not sure he could take direct pressure, not with the heat the oil is leaving in its path.  
  
Lovett stares at Jon's thighs for a long second before he shakes his head. "This is dumb. Jon, sorry about your modesty or whatever, but can I—?" He snaps the tight waistband.   
  
"Sure," Jon makes himself say, even though he knows this means there'll be no doubts as to how into this he is. How much he's turned on.   
  
They tug down his underwear together, pulling almost in sync to work them over his knees. It feels sharper than it should, because it's  _them_. Tommy wraps a hand around his calf above his ankle, like he can't help reaching out and touching Jon. He squeezes once, briefly, and Lovett watches, smiling, swirling his fingers in the bowl of oil.     
  
Jon wonders if he should’ve known about them, should’ve suspected, somehow. That something in the sharp cut of Tommy’s cheekbones, in the iciness of his coloring, _something_ should have tipped him off. Tommy’s from an old New England family and all, from Essex County if Jon’s remembering right. He should have, somehow, sensed something.

Maybe from that one time, on the cold beach at the harbour, when it looked like something dark flitted between Tommy’s shoulder blades, beneath his skin, and Jon shook it off. Or how sometimes it’s like something dim and transparent moves behind him, just over Tommy’s shoulder. Sometimes he’ll look up the scant few inches that separate them and feel like something else is _just_ there.  
  
He’s never noticed a shadow with Lovett, but it has always felt like the air around him is charged. How on the rare occasion he reached out to touch Jon’s shoulder, or arm, or back, Jon can feel it seconds before it happens. Like a reverse deja vu. Like heat lightning.

Maybe he should have suspected based off how sharp Lovett’s wit is, how he’s always exactly on the ball. Preternaturally clever.

Jon always assumed he was just an easy audience for Lovett, that his mind was playing tricks on him when it came to Tommy. Now all he can think of is _idolatry and witchcraft_ and _their blood shall be upon them_ and, especially, _acts of the flesh_.

Part of him wants to run and never look back, but he wants to stay right where he is so, so much more.

“How did you guys know?” Jon asks, both to distract himself and because he wants to know. “About each other, I mean.”

“Auras,” Lovett says with a shrug, like it should be obvious.

“Is that what the,"Jon wiggles a hand as much as he can in Tommy’s direction, “the dark thing is?”

“What.” Tommy’s voice is flat.

“You know, the shadowy thing that, like, hovers? Sometimes it looks like something, uh, hides in your skin and then, um, expands? Like steam.”

They’ve both stopped, their dominant hands hovering over either of Jon’s thighs. They’re staring so hard at him it’s like a physical weight. He squirms under the scrutiny, and the bonds wind tighter. So tight it hurts. He makes a distressed noise without meaning to.

“Sorry,” Lovett says, rushed, and they relax instantly. “You can. You can see that?”

“Not on you,” Jon admits. “Just Tommy. I, I thought I was imagining it.”

Lovett smiles, smug and satisfied. “Well, I do have a little more experience at hiding in plain sight.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “One could argue that it’s harder for me to conceal because I’m stronger." 

Lovett sniffs. “We don’t talk about that.”

“Sorry,” Jon says, because it’s automatic.

“Don’t apologize,” Lovett snaps, but mollifies his tone by firmly pulling the dry back of his hand down Jon’s thigh, like he’s petting him. He dips his fingers into the bowl and begins drawing again. Tommy follows suit. Jon focuses on breathing, willing himself not to get harder. 

“Regardless of anything else,” Tommy says once they’re onto his shins, “you shouldn’t be able to see it at all.”

“Why can I?”

“You must have some magic in you,” Lovett answers, smirking.

Jon feels faint. “Oh.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” His face is scrunched like it is when he’s grappling with a difficult policy issue. Trying to work it out in his head before giving voice to his opinion, or presenting a solution. “It could mean that someone else’s leaked onto you. Or, into you.”

“Dirty,” Lovett says.

“Shut up. Maybe I accidentally loaned him some at times, and it... stuck.”

“Wait, what?” Lovett asks. He’s stopped entirely, staring at Tommy. The oil drips off his fingers and onto Jon’s ankle. Jon shivers. “That’s only possible with soul—"

“Lovett.” Tommy’s voice is stern. A warning. 

They stare at each other over Jon’s prone body for a long beat, not breaking eye contact. Jon would swear the air gets thicker, charged like how it is before a storm. Goosebumps ripple across his skin. Everywhere the oil has touched him is just this side of too warm.

Lovett throws his hands up, and the tension breaks. “Fine, fine. You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t know! I had no idea he could see—”

“Yeah, well, I guess it makes sense. It makes,” Lovett gestures around the whole room, including all three of them in it, “this a lot easier.”

“Makes what a lot easier?” Jon asks, and they both jolt a little, as though they’d forgotten he can hear everything they’re saying. In another situation, if Jon didn’t feel like his entire life just got turned upside down, it would probably be funny.

Lovett clears his throat but it’s Tommy that answers. “The ritual.”

“Ritual for what?" 

Lovett grabs the bowl of oil again, dipping his fingers. He draws several quick lines in a series down Jon’s arm, rewetting his fingers when needed. Jon can tell the bindings—vines, they feel like vines—flow just enough out of the way each time, readjusting their firm hold on him. Lovett holds the bowl for Tommy to follow suit, suspended over Jon’s bare chest the whole time. Tommy finishes the last one on the back of Jon’s left hand, right in the center, before gripping Jon’s fingers for a second.  
  
“We’re trying to help the drought,” Tommy says, sounding embarrassed. Jon starts to laugh, but he swallows it when he sees the barest shake of Lovett’s head. “The wildfires are getting out of control and just a couple, maybe even _one_ good rain would help a lot.”

“You’re trying to make it rain,” Jon says, slowly. He’s testing it out.

“Atmokinesis,” Lovett says on a sigh. He holds up the hand not setting aside the oil bowl when he sees Jon open his mouth. “I know it sounds like some bullshit D&D thing. Weather manipulation.”

Jon takes a minute, which he thinks is allowed. “Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know about, well, any of this, but. If you make it rain too much, isn’t that dangerous, too?”

“Yup.” Tommy pops the the word. He sounds irritated, but not with Jon, or with Lovett. “It’s really difficult and really delicate work. That’s why we needed you.”

“Me?”

“You’re gonna help us channel it,” Lovett tells him.

“Having a conduit makes it easier,” Tommy says. “You’ll help us focus our energies.”

“Your magic,” Jon clarifies.

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Lovett says. “We can concentrate on you, and it’ll draw everything to a point, then refract it. Like a prism.” 

When Jon looks at him, bewildered, Tommy shrugs. “Controllable but still powerful.”

Jon drums his fingers against the bed, thinking. The invisible vines sneak down his hands, curling in between his fingers. It’s weirdly reassuring. 

“That’s you, isn’t it?” he asks Lovett. Lovett nods, not quite meeting Jon’s eyes.

“He’s great at controlling air currents,” Tommy says. Nearly gushes, for him at least. “He’s basically commanding molecules to keep you tied down.”  
  
Jon takes in a giant breath and holds it for a little too long, before exhaling. “You don’t have to. Tie me down, I mean.”

Lovett and Tommy exchange furtive glances over his body. Tommy shakes his head, and Lovett frowns. From Jon’s angle, the flickering candlelight casts deep shadows over their faces in turns.

“I want to help,” Jon offers. He flexes his hands against the vines. He can feel the still-warm symbols all down his front, over his entire body. “Let me help.”

Lovett’s glaring at Tommy, but he finally sighs loudly. “Fine. I know, I know.”

“We can’t,” Tommy says, turning to Jon. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and he genuinely looks it. “We didn’t know what to expect, so we thought it’d be easiest to keep you still. We can’t risk messing up the sigils now. There’s not enough time.”

“Time until what?”

Lovett cards his hand through Jon’s hair, careful of the marks at his temple. Jon leans into the touch. “Moonrise. It’s in 23 minutes,” he says, without looking at his phone, or anything.  
  
Jon furrows his brow. “How do you know that?”

Lovett shrugs with one shoulder. “I can feel it.”

“But you can’t be on time for work?”

Tommy laughs, loud and bright. Lovett mock scowls.

“Tell me more,” Jon says, pressing his luck, “if we’re just waiting around.”

Lovett tilts his head, considering. “Like what?”

“Anything, everything. Tommy,” Jon looks at him, “you said Lovett was good at controlling the air. What else is he good at? What are you good at?”

Lovett lights up. “Tommy’s fantastic at suggestion—”

“Which, no, I never used in the Sit Room or with reporters,” Tommy says, sternly, before Jon can even think to ask. Jon wouldn’t have thought he would, anyway. Tommy’s too noble, apparent magical prowess notwithstanding.

“He’s even better at blood magic,” Lovett says.

“Blood magic?” Jon squeaks.

“It’s not,” Tommy stops himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Goddammit, Lovett. It’s not, like, evil, or, or murderous, or anything. I can use a lifeforce, my own or someone, something else’s, and affect change.”

“Like when Lovett mixed your blood together,” Jon says, and Tommy nods.

“It makes any other spell way more powerful,” Lovett tells Jon. “Our Tommy’s just being modest.”

Tommy pinks up, quick and effortless. Jon can see the blush spreading even in the low light.

“Like always,” Jon says, grinning at Lovett. This is easy, this good natured ribbing. This is familiar. “What about you?”

Lovett opens his mouth, but Tommy cuts him off, gleeful. “Lovett’s great at divination, particularly cards.”

“Cards?”

“Tarot,” Tommy says.

Jon blinks. “Wait, seriously? That’s real?”

Lovett glares at Tommy for a long moment before looking at Jon. “Not usually, not all the shops and stuff, but yes. It is a totally valid form of magic,” Lovett says, looking back at Tommy.

“Can you see, like, the future?”

“Sometimes,” Lovett says. “Not really. It depends? It’s not that clearcut.”

“The future?”

“Time,” Lovett says, and he suddenly sound far older than he is, than they all are. Jon imagines Lovett alone in his house, reading the deck for the three of them, for the company, even for the country, over and over. Until he gets frustrated and knocks over his Diet Coke, makes Pundit whine.

Tommy is staring at Jon, eyes narrowed. “What did you see?” 

“What?”

“When he said that, what did you see in your head?”

“Just—just Lo, reading cards at home.” Jon feels defensive.

Lovett looks wide-eyed between them. “Fuck, Tommy, how much did you give him?”

Now Tommy’s on the defensive. “I didn’t mean to! He needed it sometimes, is all. When we were on the trail in Iowa and he got carsick, or when the heating went out in Chicago, and then when he wasn’t sleeping because of the inauguration...”

“What?” Jon says, faintly. He thought he at least semi-clearly remembered all of those things, and now he really, really needs to review all of them. And where Tommy was, because he was always, always close.

“Oh, nothing,” Lovett says. “Apparently Tommy’s been dosing you with magic for over a decade.”

Before Jon can get in a word, or question, edgewise, Tommy accuses, “Oh, like you’ve never done it?”

“No!” Lovett says, outraged. “Because it’s against the fucking rules!”

Tommy keeps staring at Lovett, arms crossed. “Oh, now you care about rules?”

“Okay, fine! I’ve done it a few times, but only when it was necessary!”

“Uh huh.”

“He wouldn’t leave the office when we were writing the first State of the Union! He was going to collapse!”

“I did collapse,” Jon says, small. He distinctly remembers waking up on the scratchy carpet, and Lovett helping him to the couch. He remembers that he swore Lovett to secrecy.

“You did,” Lovett agrees, “with a little help. Listen, that kind of work is not my best.”

Jon is not equipped to deal with the fact that his best friends use magic, and that they’ve apparently been using it _on_ him for years. Years on years. So many years. He feels dizzy. He closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Tommy says, carefully running his hand behind Jon’s ear, “I’m sorry. I never meant— _we_ never meant to use it that… liberally with you." 

“We just wanted to…” Lovett trails off. Jon blinks his eyes open. Lovett looks uncomfortable.

“We wanted to take care of you,” Tommy says, squeezing the base of Jon’s neck.

“Yeah,” Lovett says, voice hoarse. “That.”

Jon swallows around the lump in his throat. They are absolutely talking about honesty and consent later, but for now, “Isn’t your time almost up?”

Lovett’s whole body jolts. “Fuck!”

He reaches over to grab Tommy’s hand with one of his. Their spare hands both hover over Jon’s chest. Lovett says something in a language Jon doesn’t know. It sounds vaguely like Latin, but, thanks to Vatican II, Jon wouldn’t recognize it even if it was. Tommy joins in, and his words have the cadence of something like a prayer. An intonation. Lovett still sounds like himself, but Tommy sounds heightened.

Somehow, wind picks up in the room, with no windows or doors open, nearly guttering the candles. It dies as quickly as it started, and the candles burn even higher.

Lovett should look innocuous, in sweats and a henley that Jon is pretty sure is from his own closet. Instead, he looks strange and almost frightening. The candlelight is glinting off his eyes, reflecting how light does off a cat’s. Except the pinkpricks of gold stay there no matter how Lovett turns his head. Tommy’s are much the same, and the two of them together are a sight to behold. 

He thinks he should be scared, that a rational person would be begging to be let go by now. He feels more alive than he has in months, years maybe.

“Are you willing?” Lovett asks. Their hands are still outstretched over his body. Jon nods, eager.

“Not good enough,” Tommy says, and Jon nearly whines. “We need you to be verbal.”

“Are you willing?” Lovett repeats. 

“Yes,” Jon breathes, and Lovett’s grin is near-blinding.

“Earlier,” Jon says, because he’s warm everywhere, like there’s fire burning just under his skin. “Earlier you said my body could be willing, too.”

They’re quiet for a long time, apparently having a nonverbal conversation above him. Finally, Tommy looks down at him and says, “We can’t mess up the sigils.”

Jon shrugs as much as Lovett’s hold allows. “So don’t.”

Tommy inhales sharply.

“Yeah, Tommy. Get creative,” Lovett says, though he’s a little breathless, too. “It’ll only expand on the rite’s influence.”

“You’re sure we have time?”

“We started at moonrise. We’ll be fine if you’re quick,” Lovett says. He quirks a smile down at Jon. “Can you be quick?”

Jon can feel his face burning, but he nods.

“Give me room?” Tommy asks, grazing his fingers around Jon’s kneecap, careful of the marks. Lovett nods, and the bindings around Jon’s ankles pull his feet toward opposite corners of the bed. Jon shivers.

Tommy wastes no time, crawling up into the space left between them. He leans in and lightly kisses Jon, backing off before he can risk smearing the oil. He makes his way down, lips to Jon’s chin, the base of his throat, his stomach, avoiding the sigils creeping down Jon’s body on either side and the large, first one on his sternum.

Tommy hesitates, like suddenly he's shy, when faced with Jon's cock, already wet at the tip. “Jon,” he says, and Jon levers his head up, chin to chest to see Tommy looking up at him, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” Jon says. “Tommy, _please_.”

The bed dips, and Jon turns to see Lovett curl up by the headboard. He runs a hand through Jon’s hair while they both watch Tommy lick at the head of Jon's cock for a moment before swallowing down around him. All of him.

Jon throws his head back and gasps, “ _Jesus_ ,” which makes Lovett laugh and say, “Well, not exactly.”

Jon wants to snipe back, but his cock is in Tommy’s fucking throat and it’s more than a little distracting. Tommy pets up the inside of Jon’s thigh, teasing further and further at his ass, fingers still slightly damp with the oil. He presses in, just lightly, and Jon jerks and chokes out, “ _Yes_.”

“Here,” Lovett says, slapping the lube that Jon didn’t even hear him get from the nightstand into Tommy’s now-waiting hand.

Tommy pulls off, mouthing at the head while he slicks his fingers. Jon’s legs are tugged a little farther apart, enough that it makes the muscles in his thighs tremble. Tommy rubs and rubs until Jon cants his hips, only the tiniest amount he can in this position, and Tommy slides a finger inside him.

Jon hears himself moan before he knows he’s made a sound. He wishes he was free so he could touch, that he could at least nuzzle into Lovett’s hand without messing up their work. Tommy works him patiently before pushing in a second finger, and Jon tries to roll his hips to match him. This is torture, in the sweetest way.

“It needs to be soon,” Lovett says, voice hot and hushed, “before the cycle closes.”

Tommy nods, teasing a third finger at Jon’s entrance. “Give him a little bit of slack?”

The vines urge Jon to shift until his feet are planted on the bed, then loosen. So when Tommy presses in with three fingers at once, curling them inside, Jon can rock down against them. He’s moaning continuously now, and he only gets louder when Tommy takes his cock back into his mouth, Jon fighting for breath when it gets to be too much. 

“What a picture.” Lovett traces Jon’s lips with his fingers, pulling away when Jon tries to get them inside his mouth. On Lovett, the oil smells faintly spiced. He’s smiling at Jon upside down when he says, “I can’t wait to watch him fuck you.”

Tommy moans, and Jon’s not sure if it’s that or Lovett’s words, or Tommy’s formidable skills, but he comes with no warning. His hips suddenly held tight to the bed by another set of vines. He writhes, but Tommy keeps at it until he’s shaking.

When Tommy gets up, he maneuvers carefully around Jon’s limbs to where Lovett’s sitting. Lovett yanks him forward by the front of his t-shirt, and they kiss, deep and messy. Tommy clearly didn’t swallow everything. Jon moans weakly at the sight.

“C’mon,” Tommy says, standing, “we’ve gotta finish it.”

Lovett sighs, overdramatic, but he stands as well. They join their right hands, crossed over Jon’s body, and let the others face in opposite directions. Tommy’s toward Jon’s feet, Lovett’s over his chest. They speak a line together in the other, archaic language, before Tommy briefly switches to English and refocuses on Jon. 

“Repeat after me,” he says, and Jon does. He has no real sense of what he’s saying, but the spirit of it is clear enough. Something courses through him, almost like a wave. It’s almost too much after his orgasm, with how sensitive he is still. He cries out, and dimly he can hear Tommy shushing him.  
  
Lovett snaps, and the candles go out before soaring back to life, higher than seems safe to Jon. It must be a trick of the light, but all the sigils on his body glow suddenly. The ones under his eyes and on his cheekbones are so bright he flinches. He shuts his eyes against the glare, and the current drags him down. It’s a long time until he opens them again.  


 

***

  
When he does, he’s no longer bound. He feels so light it’s almost unnerving. Boneless and floating. The sigils have all melted away, leaving the oil shining everywhere down his chest. Tommy’s rubbing it in to his skin, careful and thorough. He smiles at Jon. “Welcome back.”

Jon smiles back, dazed. Lovett’s standing by the open window, but he’s smiling in Jon’s direction, clear in the light from the bedside lamp. The candles have been put out. Everything is sort of fading in, one detail at a time, and it takes him a moment to place the repetitive pattering sound he can hear.

“It worked!”

“Yep,” Tommy says, and a big grin splits his face, wild and infectious. 

Lovett comes over to join them on the bed, leaving the window up. “Let’s get his back, too. Can’t hurt."

Together, they help Jon sit up, though he leans most of his weight on them. They spread the oil over his torso, smooth over the planes of his shoulders, up to his hairline, before gently pushing him to lie down again. The longer they touch him, he starts to feel less unmoored, more steady.

While Tommy massages the oil into his calves, Lovett takes Jon’s cock in his hand, pulling slowly. Jon can realizes with a start that he’s turned on again, has been this whole time, even though there’s no way it’s been long enough for that.

“Is that—” he starts, but he breaks off to moan when Lovett twists his wrist just right.

“Yeah, probably,” Tommy answers, digging his thumbs sweetly into the arch of Jon’s foot. Jon moans again, for an entirely different reason. “Sex magic is difficult. Unpredictable.”

“It’s usually really hard to control, much less channel,” Lovett adds.

“Have you guys, uh, together?" 

They both shake their heads. “No,” Tommy says. “Not before tonight.”

“Not even... without it?” Jon’s losing the thread a little, as Lovett gets more confident and his hand surer.

Lovett smirks. “We hadn’t even made out before. Congrats on seeing Tommy and my’s first kiss.”

Warmth is spreading through Jon, arousal battling with comfort. “I’m glad it was here,” he says. “That you were here.”

Tommy lets go of Jon’s foot to climb back up and kiss him again, dirtier than he has yet. Jon groans, one hand clutching at his shoulder and the other reaching for Lovett. They work in tandem, Tommy kissing the life out of him while Lovett jacks him quicker. Impossibly, he’s getting close again. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling away from Tommy’s mouth. Both of them still immediately, though neither moves away. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” 

“Christ, Jon,” Tommy says, kissing him again.

When he moves on to Jon’s jaw, Jon locks eyes with Lovett, who’s watching them hungrily. “Will you, too?”

Lovett lets go of Jon’s cock and pushes Tommy out of the way to get to his mouth. Tommy laughs and proceeds farther down, scraping his teeth from Jon’s neck to his shoulder. He’s sucking a mark onto Jon’s collarbone when Lovett says, “You heard the man, Tommy. Fuck him already.”

“What do you want, Jon?

“Whatever,” Jon says, in a rush. “Whatever you want.”

“We need you to talk to us,” Tommy admonishes.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Jon says, laughing.

Lovett joins in. “He’s got a point.”

Tommy looks conflicted. “Fair, but—" 

Jon grabs the side of Tommy’s face and draws him in, kissing him soundly. Lovett makes an approving noise. When Jon pulls away, he keeps Tommy close. “I want you. Both of you. I have for awhile.”

“Awhile?” Lovett asks.

“Later,” Jon says, because that’s a much bigger, much more emotional talk he’s not ready to have right now. Not when he’s this close to getting them. “But yes, before you ambushed me on my own fucking porch, I thought about this. Wanted this.”

“Lovett?” Tommy asks, but he’s still staring at Jon, mere inches away.

“You first. I want to watch,” Lovett says, and Jon can’t help the shudder that wracks his body.

Then Tommy’s kissing him again, fervent and a little desperate, moving between Jon’s legs. He presses Jon into the bed firmly, and Jon arches into his hold. He kisses back down Jon’s body, and stops at his cock, licking a firm stripe from root to tip. Jon chokes on air, and grabs wildly for Lovett, who comes to him easily. He sucks on Jon’s tongue while Tommy opens him up again, careful but quick.

He whines when Lovett pulls away, but Lovett just rolls his eyes and holds up the condom he’s grabbed. “Settle down.”

“Seriously?” Jon says. He reaches for Tommy when he twists his fingers out of Jon’s body, but he’s standing up.

Tommy shucks his shirt and awkwardly kicks off his jeans. He kneels on the bed and reaches for the condom, but Lovett holds it away from him.

“Lovett, I swear to god,” Jon says.

Lovett smiles at him, something wicked tucked away in the corners of his mouth. “Want to see a trick?”

“Like you did with the light?”

“Well, it has been called magical.” Lovett doesn’t wait for an answer, though. He quickly unwraps the condom and situates it in his mouth, bending down so he can roll it onto Tommy’s cock with his tongue and lips.

“Jesus, Lovett,” Tommy hisses. He grabs a handful of curls and curses, catching Jon’s wide-eyed look.

Lovett sits back, smug as ever. “Okay, carry on,” he says, lazing on his side beside Jon.

“Fucking show-off,” Tommy grumbles, but he obeys, taking his cock in hand to spread more lube onto it before he slowly, slowly starts pushing into Jon.

Impatient, Jon pulls him in, hands on Tommy’s shoulders and heels at the small of his back. “Come on, come on,” he says, teeth gritted.

“I don’t want to hurt you." 

“You won’t,” Jon insists.

Tommy takes him at his word, pushing all the way in until he’s fully seated. Jon breathes through the stretch and tries not to whimper. Tommy’s braced over Jon, laying kisses over Jon’s face, so patient. He rocks in and out, slow motions that make Jon clutch at him. When Jon begins moving with him, he picks up the pace until Jon’s moaning like he was before, high and desperate.

“Fuck yeah,” Jon hears Lovett say, and looks over to see that he’s pushed his sweatpants down and is fisting his own cock.

“ _God_ ,” Jon manages, before Tommy’s kissing him, deep and intent. He’s close, so close, but when he lets go of Tommy to reach a hand down between their bodies, Tommy bats his hand away. “Tommy, please, _fuck_.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Tommy’s voice is rough and choppy, deeper than normal. It’s devastatingly hot. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I don’t think I can come like this, not without—”

“Sure you can,” Tommy says. “You’re going to, for me. For us.”

“Fuck,” Lovett says, letting go of his cock to touch Jon’s face. “Tommy, _yes_. Do it.”

“Jon, look at me.” 

Jon fights to keep his eyes open. Tommy’s still moving, steady, and the angle is perfect. They’re so close their noses are brushing. “You’re gonna come for us, okay? When I tell you to.” 

Jon nods, because he wants to believe, and it’s far from the craziest thing that he’s heard tonight. Tommy kisses him again, biting at his lips, and then, in the barest space between their mouths, he whispers, “ _Now_.” 

Something like a spark races through him, like a small-scale version of the spell before, and then he’s coming, arching and crying out. His nails drag down Tommy’s back, and he can feel Tommy falling apart above him seconds later. Tommy’s cock slips free, and Jon winces, but his weight on Jon feels good, almost too hot coupled with the oil’s effects.

Tommy stands and shakes himself a little, headed to the bathroom to clean up. Jon fights the urge to curl up on his side.

“Alright, my turn,” Lovett says. He’s already getting naked when Jon looks over, and, Jesus, there wasn’t even anything beneath his sweats. Impossibly, Jon’s half-hard and getting to being fully there again, even with come still wet on his belly. Magic is a trip.

Lovett crawls on top of Jon and practically devours him. Mouth open and aggressive, searing like a brand. Jon loses himself in kissing Lovett, which he’s coming to understand is just another irrefutable fact of life. Water is wet, the universe is infinite, Lovett’s a phenomenal kisser.

“C’mon.” Tommy’s voice and then his hands pull Jon away. He’s lying on his back, and he rolls Jon so he’s on top. Jon’s muscles feel like jelly, so he mostly collapses onto Tommy’s chest. Tommy laughs, winded. “Like this?”

Behind him, Jon hears Lovett opening another condom. “Yeah, fuck yeah,” Lovett says, all in one breath.

Jon tries to brace himself better on his hands and knees, and Tommy helps hold him up, supporting his hips. Lovett runs an appreciative hand down Jon’s spine, his slick cock bumping against Jon’s entrance.

“You ready?” 

“Yes, Lovett, _please_ ,” is all the permission he needs before driving in with one smooth thrust.

Jon gives up on locking his arms within minutes, collapsing to his elbows. Lovett keeps a tight grip on Jon’s hips, interlacing his fingers with Tommy’s, keeping Jon exactly where they want him.

“You know,” Lovett gasps, “if I wasn’t concentrating so hard on not losing it like a teenager right now, I’d be able to hold you up.” 

Jon forces himself up so he can look at Lovett over his shoulder. “I’d like that,” he says, the words punched out him with each thrust. “Liked it when you did it earlier. When you were holding me down.”

Lovett leans forward to kiss him, hot and messy. The change in angle is fantastic. “This is not going to last long,” he says, but he doesn’t sound embarrassed, just resigned.

“Tell me more,” Jon says, moving with the rhythm to drop down again, his cock dragging against Tommy’s stomach. He can’t stop shivering. “Tell me what you’ll do.”

“It might take some refining, but I think I could—” Lovett groans. “I think I could fuck you without even touching you.”

“Fuck,” Tommy says, at the same time Jon sobs, “ _Please_ ,” burying his face in Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy lets Jon fall, wrapping his arms around him. Lovett follows him down, caging him in against Tommy.

“Next time, I promise,” Lovett says. His thrusts are getting erratic, short and pointed because of how little room he has to move. “Next time I’ll hold you still and make you, _f_ _uck_ , make you fucking beg for it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bet you’ll be so good.”

“I will, I will,” Jon says, mindless. Tommy gets a hand between them and around Jon’s cock, and just the firm pressure of his grip is enough. Jon comes again, crying into Tommy’s shoulder.

“I know you will be, I know. You’re so good for us,” Lovett’s saying, leaning against Jon to kiss Tommy. Leaving Jon to shake where he’s trapped between them.

After one last rough thrust, Lovett stills, panting against Jon’s neck. He pulls out carefully, letting Jon collapse fully against Tommy. Tommy trails a soothing hand down his back, and Jon yawns so big his jaw cracks. Tommy reflexively copies him.

Lovett returns with his sweats on, tossing a towel from Jon’s en-suite at them. It slaps damp and cold against Jon’s ass.

“What the fuck, man?” Jon says over Tommy’s laughter. Tommy holds Jon up enough to wipe the come off their bodies and hands the towel back to Lovett. Lovett dumps it unceremoniously on the floor before crawling into bed beneath the covers. 

“Good idea,” Tommy says. “Come on, Jon, you’re going to freeze otherwise.”

He lets Tommy push and pull him under the blankets. The breeze from the window is getting chilly with the lack of consistent arousal and the last of the warmth from the oil fading. He shivers, and Tommy tucks him close. He feels wrecked, but in the best way. He’s definitely going to be sore in the morning, and the anticipation flares hot in his chest. He wants to find out if it’ll turn them on, too, the knowledge that they made a mess of him. He sprawls across Tommy’s chest, and Lovett drags the heavy duvet over all of them. He’s close behind Jon, but not touching. Jon hooks his foot over Lovett’s ankle. Lovett sighs, but he doesn't fight it.

“Get the light?” Tommy asks, halfway to sleep already. There’s another weird lull of not-noise, the click of the lamp, and the room goes dark. “Lazy.”

The bed moves when Lovett shrugs. “What good is magic if you don’t exploit it sometimes,” he says. He tentatively rests a hand on Jon’s back, connecting them at two points. “You okay? No impending freakout?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Jon says, soft and honest. “This is, uh, a lot to process.” He’s too content and heavy to roll over, so he flops a hand behind him until he can reach for Lovett. Lovett grabs his hand with the one he had on Jon’s back. “But I’m good, I think.” He squeezes Lovett’s hand. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” Lovett says. “Yeah, it is.”

Tommy mumbles something in agreement, and then they all fall quiet. The rain is picking up outside. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and Jon lets the slow growl of it, and the warmth surrounding him on all sides, lull him to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, of course, they cleanse the office regularly. I'll be screaming into the void about more witch headcanons [over here on tumblr](http://no-birdstofly.tumblr.com).


End file.
